


The Spaces Between the Shadows

by kronette



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-27
Updated: 2012-11-27
Packaged: 2017-11-20 14:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kronette/pseuds/kronette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unexpected breakdown gives Dean some quiet time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Spaces Between the Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted 04 August 2006 @ 08:11 pm

Sunlight bore down like a giant hand pressing against his shoulders, and even the dark shades couldn’t stop his squint. 

Stripped to jeans and a loose t-shirt, he settled as best he could against the trunk of a tree. Bark caught on his shirt and dug into his flesh, but the slightly cooler air was worth a little extra discomfort.

A faint breeze stirred the leaves overhead, making doppled patterns on his jeans and the dried grass beneath him. The relief was small, but welcome. After nearly three weeks of unbearable heat and humidity threatening to choke him, it had the same effect as ice water doused over his head. 

He cast his gaze toward the car, frowning slightly. The radiator had finally given up the ghost – no pun intended – along a deserted patch of old Route 66. The historic highway lent itself to many ghost stories: towns all but abandoned as the interstate highways were built, taking business from the mom ‘n pop shops that used to greet cross-country travelers. Now merely pitted with odd roadside attractions and by-gone tourist traps, it was a pale comparison to its former glory days. 

Waves of heat curled up from the concrete road, making the image of Sam watery and vague, as if he were a ghost himself. Dean blinked and Sam solidified, elbows to wrists streaked with engine grease and grime. Though it became Dean’s car on his seventeenth birthday, both he and Sam knew how to do nearly every minor fix, and some of the major ones. A hole in the radiator was near impossible to cure, unless one of them happened to morph into that guy from TV, the one who could fix anything with gum and a bottle of solvent. 

He thought he remembered Geary as the last town they passed through on their trek west, but didn’t know how much further it was to the next. Dean was a patient man; he could wait until the sun leaned more toward the horizon to walk for help. It was well past seven, and the evening breeze picked up a bit, such as it was. 

He still read determination in the line of Sam’s back to fix the damn car, even after two hours of frustration. He chuckled softly. His brother never did learn patience. Always wanting to _go_ , to _do_ , to _see._ That restlessness and inquisitiveness probably made him quality Stanford material.

What Sam still didn’t know, and as far as Dean was concerned, never would, was that Dean attended college. Nothing so life-altering as declaring a major and a new course for his life, but he took classes here and there. Modern and traditional folklore, electrical and mechanical engineering, journalism, North American civilization and history; things that would make a difference in _his_ world. 

Dad didn’t always stay in town while Dean was deep in studies. He’d go off and do his own thing, usually within a day or two drive, but he would always come back to the apartment they were renting before a week was up. Because Dean’s knowledge was practical, because it helped them, Dad even helped cover costs that the scammed credit cards didn’t. Books and supplies and endless little things that Dean never thought important, until he needed them for some project. 

No, his college experience would remain between him and Dad. Something inside rebelled at Sam knowing this part of him. He wanted _something_ to be just his, not because of someone else or because it was something he _should_ be doing. It was something father and son shared, something that Sam didn’t have; _couldn’t_ have. It might be selfish, and it might reveal something of his not-so-much-dark-as-no-longer-pristine-white psyche, but it was what it was. 

A loud bang followed by a string of curses brought his gaze back to his brother, now stomping over to him. A towel was being wrung mercilessly in Sam’s hands, ineffectual in removing most of the grease from his skin. 

Dean wisely did not comment on that futility; instead, he smirked and indicated the now-abandoned car. “You finally admit defeat?”

Sam dropped gracelessly beside Dean, limbs akimbo. Sweat beaded on his skin, tinged pink where the sunlight had been strongest. “Yes,” Sam groaned as he fell backwards onto the hard ground. “Ow.” 

Dean allowed the smile because Sam wouldn’t be able to see it from his position. “We can start walking in about half an hour or so. Sun will be low enough, and the wind’s picking up.” 

A piteous moan followed the answer, “You expect me to _walk_?” 

Dean felt zero sympathy for his pigheaded brother and laced his tone with the faintest blush of recrimination. “I told you not to bother. I told you if another car didn’t come by that we’d just wait until sunset to make the trek back to town.” 

“I don’t like waiting,” Sam grumbled by way of explanation, as if Dean didn’t know that particular truth. 

“And for that, you reek, and you’re more than a bit roasted.” He poked at a patch of red skin, drawing another _ow_ from Sam _._ “You can stay with the car while I get help,” he offered, inflecting that statement with as much condescension as he could muster. 

He schooled his features to neutrality as Sam turned his head and opened one eye to glare at him. “Leave the girl behind while the dashing hero goes to save the day, only for the girl to be eaten, killed, dragged off or worse by the monster? How cliché, Dean. And I’m not a fucking girl.” 

“Do you want to make the hike or not?” he snapped, weariness at _this_ , at _them_ suddenly overwhelming. 

Sam remained quiet for a moment, and Dean wondered if Sam finally _got it_ , if he finally _heard_ and _understood_. He couldn’t be sure, but Sam acquiesced softly, “I’ll stay with the car.” 

Choosing silence over retort, Dean stood and removed his sunglasses. The sun was hovering at the horizon, the space between earth and sky blurring in its radiance. He crossed the road and popped the trunk of the car, pulling a small .45 and tucking it into the back of his jeans. He pulled on a short-sleeved shirt, leaving it unbuttoned and loose to cover the gun. 

He made no parting remark, and Sam blessed him in kind. The quiet followed him, only the tread of his boots and the occasional wildlife animal making itself known. Not more than two miles into his hike, buildings swam in the distance. He grinned and picked up his pace, not wanting to leave Sam out there alone for too long. 

The End


End file.
